Ginny
by Give Me The Gun
Summary: She's not quite sure why she feels like she's doing something she shouldn't be doing. It's just writing. She's not hurting anyone. But sometimes she can't remember. And Tom tells her not to worry. But she does.
1. After

**AFTER**

It wasn't much to look at – small and thin, probably made to fit in your pocket or up your sleeve or wherever you happen to keep your diary. The cover was black and the pages were crinkly yellow and completely blank.

It smelt old; not _mouldy_ old, just . . . old. Like someone had kept it on a shelf for ages and ages. When I ran my fingers over it, it reminded me of the books in Grandfather's library; soft and firm and a bit dusty.

We used to visit Grandad a lot, before he died. He died on my birthday. Fred joked that I'd killed him so I could stay at home on my birthday and have a better day. I didn't think that was funny at all, so I hit him with Mum's broomstick and knocked his tooth out. To be fair, it was already wobbly. And he did get three Knuts for it, slipped under his pillow by the Tooth Pictsie. Mum, I should say.

I don't believe in the Tooth Pictsie anymore. Or the Yulemas Yeti. I don't believe in any of that stuff anymore. I'm too old for it now and I know what the world is really like. It's full of idiots who'll tease you for no reason, idiots who'll tease you for a good reason, idiots who'll ignore you and idiots who'll pretend to like you and then . . . . and then-

They said I should talk about It. That's what everyone calls it, capital letter and all. But who am I supposed to talk to? Nobody looks me in the eye anymore. Like he's still there, hiding behind the freckles and the brown eyes and the flaming Weasley hair. Behind me.

Sometimes I think he _is_ still there, hiding at the back of my mind, in between my memories, in a drawer that I never open.

When Fred and George tease me and I want to jinx them so badly they won't remember my name or theirs; that's when he's there.

When Percy sneers at me and tells me I'm too little to talk to and I want to stuff that bloody prefect's badge down his throat; that's when he's there.

When Mum gives me a quick hug and tells me in a distracted voice to go talk to one of my brothers, that she's too busy right now and I want to set the sofa on fire just so she'll remember I'm still here; that's when he's there.

When Dad looks anywhere but me, anywhere but the possessed child, when he can't talk to me because he's too busy hating Lucius Malfoy and Tom Riddle foe what they did to me and I want to scream at him that it's not important anymore, that I just want it all to be normal again; that's when Tom's there.

But he isn't really.

I just think he is.

I sort of hope he is, because that would mean that I'm not really me and maybe someday I'll go back to the way I was before. I wouldn't even mind if that means my brothers would start teasing me properly again and I'd be sticking my elbow in the butter dish every morning at breakfast. Just as long as everyone stopped treating me like I'm made of glass and I'll shatter into a million tiny pieces if they look too hard at me.

They said I should talk about It. But there's no one to talk to. There's not even anyone to talk _at_. And I'm not writing anything down. Look where that got me last time.

I found a gnome in the woods behind the house once that was actually rather nice and I talked to him for a while. Once I got started I couldn't stop. But I let him go when he started to go cross-eyed. And now I don't remember what my point was.

That used to happen a lot with Tom. I'd get caught up talking about something, picking just the right adjectives to describe it, making pictures with my words. It sounds stupid now, but it's true. I could write pages and pages about absolutely nothing at all – that was nice. And I could talk about real things too; real people, real problems. But it wasn't real, any of it.

They like to tell me it's not my fault. As if maybe if they say it enough, it'll come true.

I think they're stupid. And wrong, too. It _was_ my fault, most of it. Well, some of it.

I don't know anymore.

I can't remember most of it. But I don't tell them, because they'd all pretend to be sorry but their eyes would be so relieved that I'd wonder if they thought it would be better if Lockhart just did a Memory Charm on me. Assuming he can still remember the incantation. Pity. He really was very good-looking.

Anyway, I only remember bits. Little flashes here and there, that sort of thing. It's actually starting to come back. I'm remembering more everyday. But I don't tell them that either. I don't tell them anything anymore, other than, "Pass the salt."


	2. Before

BEFORE

"Pass the salt."

"Catch, Gin."

"_George_."

"Sorry, Mum. Sorry, Perce. Here, you can have my unsalted potatoes."

"_Idiot_."

"Fred, don't call your brother an idiot."

"Why not? I call cheese cheese. I call wands wands. I call George an idiot."

"Oh, ha-ha, very funny, bro."

"Thank you. I thought so too."

"Can I have the salt now?"

"Would you two stop flicking peas at me?"

"Fred, George, stop flicking peas at Percy."

"Yes, Dad."

"_Salt_."

"Ron, actually."

"Mum, look! Little Ronniekins has grown a sense of humour!"

"Shut _up_, Fred!"

"Ooh, touchy."

"Do you get that mad at dear Hermione?"

"Mu-um! Make them _stop_!"

"Will you all shut up and give me the salt!"

"All right, all right. All you had to do was ask, Gin."

And they were happy, most of the time.


	3. Just before

**JUST BEFORE**

Ginny takes the stairs three at a time and lands with a thump on the wooden floor.

Molly looks up. "Ginny, I wish you wouldn't do that, these floors are too old for it."

"Fred and George and Ron do it," Ginny says unconcernedly. "And they're all twice my size. Where did you put my school books, Mum?"

That look crosses her mother's face again. The soft one, where the lines around her mouth disappear and she smiles at Ginny like she's just tied her shoelaces for the first time.

"Mum?" Ginny ventures, noting her mother's far-off expression.

"Oh. Yes, dear. If you want to," Molly says placidly.

She wasn't always this distracted. But she worries more with all her children grown up or in school than she does when they're all in the house. Maybe she thinks if we're all within grabbing distance, things will be all right, Ginny wonders.

"My books, Mum? I left them in the hall and someone's moved them and – oh. Hi, Harry."

Oh, someone please jinx her. She's not blushing, is she? Her mother's smiling at her again, oh, she _is_ blushing. Can't she even say his name without lighting up like a flare?

He looks uncomfortable too. "Um, hi, Ginny. Um, Mrs. Weasley, have you seen my school books? Someone's moved them from the hall."

"Yes, dear, I put them all on the study desk."

And why does her mother listen to _him_ and not to her own daughter? All right, so he might be The Boy Who Lived and he is The Boy With Very Nice Eyes When He Smiles, but really. What ever happened to family loyalty? Ginny wonders if her mother thinks that Harry's family now, after two weeks at the Burrow. This makes her angry for some reason, so she stomps off to the bloody study to find her bloody books and what is that bloody broomstick doing lying in a strategic position to trip someone?

From behind her, she hears Harry asked, confused, "Did I say something?"

Well, he may be the saviour of the wizarding world, but sometimes he isn't very bright, she must admit.


	4. In the beginning

**IN THE BEGINNING**

It's sitting on the desk.

Ginny threw it over there earlier after it said hello to her.

She wonders if she's gone mad. After all, what kind of diary says hello after someone very vehemently writes _I hate my brothers_ in it?

She can't remember buying it. But there it was in her cauldron, along with "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them". Maybe Mum dropped it in. Does Mum know that it's possessed?

No, it's not actually possessed. She remembers Dad's dinnertime stories and something's not possessed unless it's being occupied by someone or something else. There doesn't seem to be anything controlling the diary. Maybe it's just a diary that writes back. Some new type of toy.

It doesn't look new, though. It looks old.

Still, it's not actually _alive_. It probably just writes hello whenever it's written in. It doesn't actually _understand_ what she's writing.

* * *

Who are you?

_My name is Tom Riddle. What's yours?_

* * *

She's thrown it across the room again. It makes her feel a bit better. It might talk back to her, it might have a name, but it's still smaller than she is and she knows where Dad keeps the Muggle hedge shears.

* * *

What are you?

_What do you mean?_

I mean how can a diary understand what I'm writing?

_I'm not a diary. I'm a person._

That's funny. You look very rectangular to me.

_No, no, I'm a person inside a diary._

Are you trapped?

_I can't get out, but I don't want to anyway. I like it in here. Where are you?_

In my house. In my room. At my desk.

_What's your name?_

Gi- how do I know you're not possessed or trying to suck the life force out of me?

_Because I don't need to. I told you, I like it in here. But I do get a bit lonely with no one to talk to._

Me too. Well, I've got people to talk to, but they're all idiots.

_You can talk to me._

* * *

She's hidden it under the mattress. She's not quite sure why she feels like she's doing something she shouldn't be doing. It's just _writing_, isn't it? 


	5. During

**DURING**

Colin's gone. Nobody knows where. Ginny isa bit worried. Tom told her not to be, he's sure that he'll be back for Transfiguration first thing in the morning, camera and all.

Ginny isn't so sure.

She hasn't told Tom this, which is unusual. She tells him everything. But sometimes Tom doesn't listen to her.

Not all the time. Just sometimes. But Ginny tells herself that that's all right. After all, he's really quite nice most of the time; he should be entitled to the odd grumpy mood every now and then. Merlin knows Ginny has plenty of them herself.

* * *

Colin still isn't back and it's morning break already. She's sitting with Hermione because Harry's still in the hospital wing and Ron . . . well, Hermione won't tell her where Ron is, which would normally annoy Ginny, because he _is_ her brother and even if he's head over heels in love with Hermione, Ginny still matters, doesn't she?

Selfish prat, running off just when she wants to talk to him. And _where_ is Colin?

Hermione isn't worried either. "He's probably in the hospital wing. There's a stomach bug going around, you know." Hermione isalways sensible at times like these. Ginny wishes she could be sensible about these things too.

A huddle of fourth years goes by, talking loudly about Mrs. Norris, who apparently doesn't blink even if you wave a fish under her nose. Ginny doesn't ask them how they know this. She doesn't really want to think about Mrs. Norris.

I was doing my homework that night, she tells herself firmly. I was . . . . somewhere, doing my homework. Yes. That's right. And last night I was . . . .

She stands in the corner of the courtyard, the light drizzle making her hair damp, staring at the ground and wishing she was sensible about these things. She doesn't know many people who black out at regular intervals. And don't tell anyone about it but a stupid diary that can't even bring itself to be worried about all the mad and creepy things happening around it. Tom's an idiot, she tells herself, and feels a bit better.

Hermione is staring at her rather oddly. "Ginny, are you all right? You don't look . . . yourself," she hazards.

Ginny opens her mouth to say – what?

"No Hermione, I rather think that _I'm_ the one behind the attacks."

"Yes Hermione, I'm perfectly fine."

"Would you shut up and leave me alone?"

She closes her mouth and shrugs.

Hermione doesn't look convinced. "Do you want to go inside? It's a bit chilly out here and it would be awful to catch a cold at the beginning of the week, you might have to miss some classes."

Ginny wants to laugh, to throw her arms around Hermione and sob. But that sort of thing tends to put people off. So Ginny nods and Hermione leads her back into the entrance hall. As they stand near the marble staircase, surrounded by other students sheltering from the cold, a skinny third-year sprints down the stairs and shrieks, "Colin Creevey's been _Petrified_!"

The hall is suddenly filled with shouts and groans and questions. The messenger is quickly mobbed and hounded for more details. Hermione's hand flies to her mouth and she turns wide eyes on Ginny.

Ginny feels ill.

Hermione manages to say in a faltering voice, "I'm sure he'll be all right, Ginny."

Ginny doesn't want to say, "It's not him I'm worried about, Hermione. It's you. It's every other Muggleborn in the school. It's _me_, Hermione. Please curse me and save the world while you're at it."

She wonders if she's overreacting. There might be a perfectly logical explanation for the black-outs, the fits, the disappearances, the missing days, that red paint all over the place and the attacks. Hermione could probably explain all of it, given ten minutes, a star chart and _Hogwarts: A History_.

Ron appears through the crowd and Ginny has never been so glad to see him or so eager to slap him.

Hermione beats her to it, though. "Where have you _been_?"

Ron glances at Ginny and says, "I've, uh, been, you know, _working_." He stares fixedly at Hermione and waggles his eyebrows. Hermione sighs and rolls her eyes, obviously getting the message.

Ron turns to Ginny now and says, "Gin, you're as white as Nearly Headless Nick. What's the matter? You don't look well." He's got that casual-but-concerned look that their father gets sometimes, when he's worried but too manly to show it.

But Ginny can't say anything. What's there to say?

Wonderful, magnificent Hermione comes to the rescue again. "Colin's been Petrified, Ron," she says in a hushed voice.

Ron turns pale and his freckles stand out even more. He starts to make a movement with his arms, but stops. Ginny looks at him and he reaches out and touches her arm lightly. She nods and forces a smile. Hermione looks between them, probably lamenting the Weasley inability to verbally communicate.

McGonagall sweeps down the marble stairs and claps her hands once. Silence falls like an executioner's axe. Ginny wishes she didn't just think that.

McGonagall doesn't say anything, just surveys the students with a funny look in her eye. A small voice breaks the silences and asks, "Will he be all right?" It takes a minute for Ginny to realize that it's hers.

McGonagall looks at her for a moment and nods. The bell rings suddenly and everyone jumps. McGonagall sweeps off again without a word. Useless woman, Ginny thinks sullenly.

She feels Ron and Hermione exchange glances over her head. Ginny doesn't like them either, come to think of it. Sneaking off with Harry, ignoring her, telling her she's too young . . .

Ron touches her arm again and says with difficulty, "It'll be OK, Gin. He'll be OK."

Ginny doesn't ask him, "What about me? What if I did it?" She nods at him and walks off. She returns a minute later and Hermione hands her the schoolbag she's forgotten again.


	6. Shortly after

**AFTER**

Colin is sitting by himself in a chair by the fire. Ginny steels herself and walks over to him. She stands awkwardly by his chair for a minute before he notices her.

"Oh, hi Ginny," he says cheerfully with his easy smile.

Ginny tries to smile back. "Hi, Colin," she says softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Great! I don't even remember any of it. And I missed exams!" he says excitedly. "How cool is that?" He chatters on in thsi vein for a few minutes. Ginny feels a headache coming on. She's had a lot of them since Tom – died? Left? Was vanquished? Retired? Well, since whatever it was that happened to him.

Colin stops suddenly and looks intently at her. "Are you OK, Ginny? You seema bittired."

She nods. "I haven't got much sleep lately, what with all the stuff that's been happening," she tells him.

Colin nods and agrees sagely. He launches into a humorous story of how his father had been so happy to hear that his son was all right that he had misdelivered some milk and eggs, or something along those lines. Ginny is tired and can't concentrate anymore.

Colin stops again and watches her. Ginny finds that she can speak now and bursts out, "I'm sorry, Colin."

He looks surprised. "What for? It's wasn't your fault."

The moment stretches out, filled with all the things Ginny could have said. But she smiles weakly and fibs, "I didn't visit you too much when you were in the hospital wing. Sorry."

He waves the apology off. "I wouldn't have noticed anyway." They chat for a while and then Colin leaves to go to bed.

She feels exhausted, like she's just played Quidditch for three days straight. Right now she just wants her bed, even if it means lots of dreams about red paint and snakes and diaries that don't really mean what they say. Walking across the common room, she almost bumps into Harry, who's been standing there since she went over to Colin.

She blinks up at him, her mind fuzzily wondering why he's standing in her way. He stares at his feet and clears his throat. "Um, I just wanted, wanted to say that, er-" he clears his throat and rallies, looking her in the eye. "You don't have to apologize to people," he says firmly. "It wasn't your fault and you shouldn't think that it was."

Ginny could kiss him for that, she really could. She doesn't believe a word of it, but it's still a lovely thing to say. She doesn't kiss him though, because he looks vaguely terrified and Hermione and Ron are watching closely from the other side of the common room. She gives him a tired smile, touches his arm and thanks him. He looks relieved, she notes as she goes off to bed.


	7. Just starting

**DURING**

_Tell me about Harry._

Why?

_You want to talk about him, I know you do. I'll listen._

You'll just tease me like everyone else does.

_I'm not like everyone else, Ginny._

I know that, Tom. I can fit you in my pocket.

_A portable friend. Aren't I wonderful?_

I don't know who I'd talk to if I didn't have you.

_I know._

What do you want to know about Harry?

_Whatever you want to tell me._


End file.
